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“Why?” she stammered.
“I knew from the beginning you were going to try something like this. Takes a snake to recognize a snake.” He picked up the gun and tucked it in his waistband. “I haven’t survived this long without overthinking every scenario.”
“If I don’t make it back, you’ll be exposed,” she said as she pressed a trembling, blood-soaked hand to her midsection.
“I don’t give a shit about that anymore.” He hauled her forward. Her knees buckled, but he held her steady. “I have one more job to do, and then I’m free of all my debts.” He grinned. “Even if you hadn’t tried to kill me today, I’d have killed you anyway.”
“You’ll go to prison.”
He pressed the barrel of the gun to her temple. “I won’t.”
Her gaze met his. Pain and fear stripped her confidence, leaving only desperation. “I have money.”
“I’ve been paid enough already. I only need you.”
She could feel her life draining away. “Why?”
“You’re an important piece of the puzzle now. Not only will my debts be paid, but anyone who knew me as the Hangman will be dead.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“I need bait for the trap, and you’re it.” Blood dripped on the floor and on her leopard-print shoes.
Novak’s gaze settled on Julia. As she reached for the car door handle, he grabbed her hand and gently pulled her toward him. “We’ll figure this out.”
She studied him close.
“I need to talk to Ken,” Julia said. “He’s the last real link to my father and the case.”
“And you’ve called his house twice and left two messages. We’ll catch up with him within the next few hours and get to the bottom of the note.” He kissed her. “I’ll call you soon.”
Novak watched her climb the back staircase and vanish into her apartment before he pulled out of the alley. En route to his office he received a call from Riggs.
“We found Bonnie Jenkins,” he said.
“Where?”
“In a bar on Southside. She’s at the station now. We’re giving her coffee and food to sober her up.”
“Great. Don’t let her leave until I get there.”
Blue lights flashing all the way, he made it to police headquarters in fifteen minutes. He found Riggs standing outside an interview room, his hands in his pockets.
“How’s she doing?” Novak asked.
“She’s still drunk but making more sense.”
“Have you asked her about Lana?”
“Nope. Thought I’d save that conversation for you.”
“Let’s do it.” Inside the small interview room, he found Bonnie Jenkins in a chair hunched over a metal table. Her hands cradled a cup of coffee, and beside her was a partly eaten doughnut. When he closed the door, she looked up.
Her skin was pale, her eyes heavily made up. Her tousled hair was brown, and one false eyelash was coming loose. She wore a red dress with spaghetti straps and a tight bodice.
“Bonnie,” Novak said.
“Why am I here? I’ve been drunk in public before, and I’ve never been brought to a room like this.”
He pulled up a chair beside her. He didn’t want the table separating them or her thinking he was the enemy. “I’m hoping you can help me.”
She sniffed and straightened. “With what?”
“You know Lana Ortega?”
“Sure, Lana. We partied together a few times. Where is that bitch, anyway?”
“She’s dead,” Novak said, matter-of-fact.
Bonnie blinked and sat back in her chair. “What?”
“She was murdered a few nights ago. You may be in danger, so we want your help.”
“Shit. How?”
“Hanged, suffocated, and carved on. Very gruesome and not done quickly.”
“That’s messed up. Was it a john?”
“We don’t know yet, but I don’t want him finding you.”
“I haven’t seen her since Monday.”
“You and Lana met another cop in the Edge bar. Do you remember him?”
“Yeah. Jim. He bought us a few rounds of drinks.”
“What did Jim look like?”
“Like a cop. Okay-looking. Suit. Typical cop.”
“If I had a sketch artist sit down with you, could you describe Jim?”
“Did a cop kill Lana?”
“We don’t think he was a cop, but I have to be sure. Will you work with me?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“What did Jim talk to you and Lana about?”
“He was more into her than me. Said she was his type. She loved the attention to flirt, but it never
got serious with anyone.”
“Did he talk to you?”
“A little. But he was always more interested in Lana.” Her brow wrinkled with a frown. “When Lana left the bar that night, he left with her.”
“They say where they were going?”
“Another bar.”
“Was it Billy’s?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“Did either one of them return to the bar?”
“I don’t know. I hung around a little longer and then found someone else to party with.”
“Okay. Drink up that coffee, and I’ll get the artist.”
“Could I get a chocolate doughnut? Not crazy about the sprinkles.”
“Sure. Anything you want.”
“I don’t like the name Hangman,” he said as he coiled the rope around Ms. Monroe’s neck and secured it tight. “No imagination. I put time and effort into the knots, and no one appreciates the effort.”
Monroe stared at him, her eyes wide and full of fear, her voice silenced by the rag in her mouth secured with a strip of duct tape. She struggled to breathe with only one good lung now.
He ran the strand of rope around her wrist and secured it to a pole that crossed over her shoulder blades. Both her arms were now stretched out into a T. The pole was suspended by another rope that stretched up and over a rafter in the ceiling of the garage behind the main house.
“I like this setting. Perfect place for our party.” He removed the duct tape and pulled the rag from her mouth.
“Please,” she said.
“It takes planning to make these scenes work. It’s not just tying knots. And honestly, it was never about the money.”
She looked at him, her brown eyes bright with tears. A moan rumbled in her throat.
He moved back to his bag and pulled out another length of rope. Winding each end around his fists, he tugged. He knew it was strong, but also knew she was watching. Little things like this could ratchet up the terror. “You understand this is not personal,” he said as he approached her. “It’s that you fit the criteria, which is important to the endgame. Without the right trail of bread crumbs, I won’t catch the right bird.”
“What are you talking about?” she whispered.
